


Finals Season

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Dorks, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's finals season, and Jean makes an exception just this once. He's glad he did.</p><p>Studying, arcades, sharing, and drinking ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie guys this is my favorite fucking thing everrrrr
> 
> also i have a tumblr so... like... i mean i guess you can follow me on there or something oh gosh (avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com)

“Hey,” a somewhat hesitant voice says from Jean’s left. He doesn’t hear it, though; his earbuds are blasting music, head bobbing in time as he stares at his notes. 

Not deterred, the voice tries again. “Um, hey, you…”

Jean notices someone encroaching on his personal space and pulls out an earbud, raising an eyebrow at the nearby presence. It’s a guy Jean recognizes from the back of the classroom; they usually sit at opposite ends of the last row, though. “Hi?” He’s a little wary.

“Um, I know we’ve never talked before,” the other kid says quietly. It’s still a few minutes before class, and the other three people scattered around the room are complaining about the test they have the following Monday. “But did you start studying for that test yet?”

Gold eyes narrow, and Jean takes in the soft smile the other kid is aiming at him. He’s got short black hair, freckles, wide brown eyes… definitely the gentle fawn type. Bambi-looking kid. “Kinda,” Jean sighs, leaning back into his chair. He gestures lamely at his messy notes with his pen. “Not too far yet, though. Was gonna do it over the weekend.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m not far yet either…”

They both pause, somewhat awkwardly. Bambi speaks again. “Oh, sorry, uh, my name’s Marco.” He holds out his hand. Jean notices that he’s got freckles on his knuckles, too; can’t escape them. 

“Jean,” he says lamely, reaching out to shake Marco’s hand. 

“Jean,” he repeats, as if trying to commit it to memory. “What about the cellular final? Did you start working on that?”

The blonde groans and runs a hand through his messy hair. Marco’s referring to another class they apparently have together, whose final is a freakishly complicated 20-page paper. “Nah, this was sooner, so…”

“Yeah, I feel that.” Marco leans against the chair he’d purloined, body slightly turned toward Jean. He turns his head to look around the room. Jean thinks he doesn’t look quite awake yet; that probably goes for both of them, though.

Jean sighs quietly and turns back to his notes, debating putting his headphones back in. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Marco laughs, catching Jean’s attention once more. “The reason I came over here. Um, would you be interested in maybe studying together over the weekend? Or working on the cell final?”

For some reason, Jean suppresses his first instinct to refuse, instead raising his eyebrows and contemplating. “Uh,” he says. “Yeah, okay. Why not? You live on campus?”

Marco smiles brightly. “Nah, but I live nearby. Over on 18th and Sina.” 

“That’s way closer than me,” Jean says, running a hand through his hair again. They both look up as their disheveled professor runs into the room, huffing and looking excessively excited about something. That gleam in their eyes could only mean that something crazy was published in _Nature_ or something yesterday. Jean’s got Dr Hanji Zoe for three of his five classes, so he’s learned to read the eccentric knob pretty well. 

“Ah, here, let me get your phone number,” Marco says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it to Jean. It’s one of those touch screen fancy jawns, so Jean kind of stares helplessly at Marco. He’s still stuck with, you know, actual buttons. Marco laughs and unlocks the phone, bringing it to the right screen. Hanji’s up at the front of the room, already gushing about incredible new microscopy techniques the NIH unveiled in October. Jean sighs and types his number and his name into the (hopefully) appropriate spots, then hands the phone back to Marco. The brunette smiles and whispers “thanks” before scuttling back to his seat and sliding back in behind his pullout desk.

Jean definitely does not stare at Marco’s ass as he does so.

Class passes relatively uneventfully, with a lot of Hanji’s fanclub in the front row brown-nosing and asking for an exam cancellation (what with finals coming up) and Hanji resolutely refusing, talking hyperfast about the virtues of consistent testing of knowledge and its proven effects on the solidity of long-term memory. Which they would know if they’d, you know, been studying the material. Neural plasticity isn’t something they just memorize for shits and giggles, after all.

Jean sighs and slumps down in his chair, watching his nerd teacher whirl through the material for the third test. He scrawls some notes, but mostly doodles in the margins; they’d gone over the same shit every day for two weeks because half the class inexplicably just did not get it. 

He sneaks a glance over at Marco, who looks like he’s struggling to stay awake. The brunette spins his pen between his fingers and alternates between staring blankly at Zoe and underlining passages in the reading, open on the unoccupied desk next to his. Jean realizes he’d watched for a weird amount of time when Marco glances over at him and grins.

Gaze jumping back to the front of the room, Jean feels his face go hot. He gives a brief nod without looking over again, not really caring if the gesture goes unnoticed or not. It’s just a nicety anyway.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he tugs it out and drops it on the desk in front of him. Text. Who’s texting him this damn early? Jean sticks his pen in his mouth and opens the text, buttons on his “old man phone” clicking softly. Unknown number.

_I’m so tired of learning the same serotonergic conditioning pathway every day :p_

Jean flicks his eyes over to Marco, who points to his own phone resting on his notes. Oh, duh.

_same_

_Looks like we’re probably just gonna be doing the cell final, huh?_

_likely_

_Cool. Wanna split up the articles for it?_

_sure_

Jean notices that he tends to only give one-word responses. He wonders for the first time if it seems off-putting. Picking up his phone and ticking away at the buttons, he taps out another, more human response.

_ill take the bioethics stuff if ull take the retinal implant shit_

_Deal! I talk too much when ethics come up anyway :]_

_lol_

Has being this impersonal ever felt so weird before? Jean grimaces a little. He feels really odd, but talking to Marco seems more… worthwhile than talking to the rest of his peers. Having to actually put thought into his responses is really weird.

_so when/where do you wanna meet_

_Ummm, how about tomorrow at the Starbucks at 14th and Maria? Is noon too early?_

_nah its whatever. works for me_

_Cool. :D_

Jean stares at his phone for a while before shoving it back in his pocket and looking back up at Hanji. Dr Geekasaurus is looking around somewhat anxiously, and Jean wonders what he’d missed. 

“Really? You guys don’t want to review any topics? So you’re all getting As on Monday, right?”

A mumble of vague, unconvincing assent passes through the room. Hanji looks disturbed, but throws their hands up. “Alright, have it your way! I guess I’ll let you go—” the rustle of students packing up fills the room, and Hanji has to speak a little louder over the din. “But I’ll be here for the next ten minutes in case any of you shy people have questions!”

Jean stuffs his notebook haphazardly into his bag, not bothering to close it first, and swings his bag over his shoulder. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and pulls his earbuds back out, realizing he’d never turned his music off. How had he not noticed that? 

Shoving one earbud in, Jean turns to walk out, pausing next to Marco as the brunette neatly files all of his crap into his own bag. “So, tomorrow, yeah?” Marco looks up at him and smiles as he speaks.

Nodding, Jean pushes his hands deeper into his hoodie. “See you at noon,” he mumbles, following Marco out of the classroom. They walk the same direction, falling into step beside each other. It makes sense, there’s really only one logical way out of the building, but Jean considers slowing to let Marco move in front of him anyway. 

“Oh, Jean,” Marco says, turning toward a lagging Jean. 

“Yeah?”

“You said you don’t live close, right?”

“Yeah,” Jean mutters, pulling his earbud back out. “I live south a bit, around Trost.”

“Oh, I’ve been down there. It’s a little far, right?”

Jean shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, I live just off campus,” Marco says, holding the door open for Jean to move through first. He steps somewhat unwillingly into the chilly air outside, squinting at the sunlight. “I live with a bunch of lazy psych majors.” Marco chuckles and stuffs his hands back in his pockets. His breath fogs the air in front of him. “They complain all day about having to take some intro-level stats and their joke of a research class.”

“I know the type,” Jean says with a grimace, thinking of Connie and Sasha. The two seem convinced that anything that involves contact with icky freshmen (coincidentally, stats) is overly stressful on their aging minds and deserves healthy amounts of loaded pot brownies. “I’ve got some friends like that.”

Marco laughs. “You know, we do have like all of our classes together. Maybe we have some mutual friends we’ve never noticed before.”

Jean thinks. Yeah, they do share four out of five classes, now that he thinks about it. Weird that they’ve never spoken. It also explains why they’re still headed in the same direction, crossing the quad at an easy pace. “It’s possible. Who do you live with?”

“Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, and Reiner Braun. Annie Leonhardt and Bertholdt Hoover share the apartment under us, but they actually do work.”

Pausing, Jean looks at Marco out of the corner of his eye and smiles a little. “Yup, I know all of those people.”

“Ah, really?” Marco looks really excited, laughing and adjusting his backpack. He definitely does not look cute in any way, shape, or form. “See, that’s what I mean. I’m gonna text Connie and ask why he’s never mentioned you.”

“Harsh,” Jean says, taking his turn to hold the door open for Marco. He’s considering the same, though. 

Their second and last class passes without incident; Marco gives Jean his printouts of the bioethics materials, and they agree to take notes and switch, since they can’t technically pair up on the assignment. Jean heads home early to take a well-deserved nap, and Marco leaves to do Marco things, Jean assumes.

Jean lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, hands behind his head and headphones blasting music. He can still hear Eren screaming at his Xbox loudly in the other room; kid never has classes on Fridays, somehow. It’s annoying.

With a sigh, Jean digs around in his backpack until he feels something that vaguely resembles a sheaf of papers, in slightly less disrepair than the rest of his shit. He tugs out the bioethics articles and pulls a pen out from under his pillow. If he can’t nap because of fucking Jaeger and his fucking online matches, then he may as well try to get some work done.

By the time he wakes up, it’s around six am (or so the clock tells him). He checks his phone, not surprised to see zero notifications. He never got around to setting up his voicemail, because the icon on his last phone really bugged him, what with its sticking around for several months before he got annoyed enough to check it.

May as well get up at this point, Jean reasons. He only made it halfway through the papers before they came to rest on his passed out face. Not too useful.

Jean swings his legs out of his bed, pulling off his headphones, and stalks to the shower. He turns it on and moves to the kitchen; it’ll take about ten minutes to actually get hot. Damn winter. Rubbing his eye, he starts a pot of coffee and notices Eren hasn’t gone to bed yet. 

“Jaeger, the fuck are you doing?”

Eren turns to look at him and grins. “Didn’t feel like sleeping. What’s up, horse face?”

Jean doesn’t apologize when he kicks Eren’s shoulder as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing heavily next to the obnoxious brunette. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Yeah, man, you were passed out all day. You sleep like the dead.”

“Whatever.”

They watch the early morning cartoons in comfortable silence. Truth be told, they used to fucking hate each other; too many times, they’d end up at the principal’s office in high school, covered in blood and bruises, whoever won that time grinning widely while the other sulked. Jean thinks he might have broken Eren’s nose against a tree one time, but it had never come up. 

“Leaving around eleven,” Jean says, tipping his head back to check on the coffee. The machine spits venomously and bubbles out some steam. 

“So?”

“Dunno when I’m coming back yet. Don’t fucking auction off my stuff.”

“No promises,” Eren says, swinging himself over the back of the couch and moving to inspect the fridge. “Could probably use more beer.”

“Get fucked,” Jean says around a yawn, scratching his stomach. He really wants to change out of his clothes; sleeping in them felt kind of gross. 

“You got a hot date?”

Jean groans and tilts his head back, watching Eren dig through the open fridge. “No, fuckface. It’s finals. Going to study with some dude from my class.”

“Yeah? Anyone I know?”

Eren’s a history and journalism double major, for whatever fucking reason. Something about righting the wrongs in the world. “Probably not,” Jean says as he stands from the couch, moving into their small kitchen to grab a coffee mug. “He majors in real people shit.”

“Hey, fuck off, science nerd,” Eren says from somewhere around the third shelf, poking his hand out to flip Jean an impressive bird. “Elitist shithead.”

Jean laughs and pours his coffee in a mug with a cranky-looking cat on it. He kicks Eren in the ass and reaches past him to grab the milk, giving it a cautious sniff before dumping some in his coffee. As he tosses the milk back into the fridge, he watches Eren’s hands feel around behind some giant bottle of juice that may or may not be half juice, half every liquor they’ve ever left half a shot of at the bottom of a bottle. They couldn’t remember which juice had become the Drink of Shame (reserved for aggressive douches at their house parties), and frankly they’re a little frightened to find out. The Drink of Shame has quite the rich history.

“What are you even looking for, man?”

“I swear,” Eren mumbles, “That there was some bacon back here.”

“Dude, if it’s that far back, you don’t want it,” Jean says as he closes the door on Eren and shuffles past him. The shower’s probably ready, and he’s more than ready for that.


	2. Break Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard work deserves a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kinda long, but not really
> 
> i still have a tumblr ([avoidingavoidance@tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com))

Armin thinks it’s a little gross that Jean drinks coffee while he showers, but whatever; it’s a time saver. There’s this great little soap dish that’s the perfect size for a mug, and it’s far enough away from the shower head that he doesn’t have to worry about soap getting into his drink. 

Jean definitely needed that scrub. He sips what remains of his coffee on his way back to his room, trying to hold up his towel while juggling his clothes in the same arm. 

The rest of the morning passes fairly without incident; Jean manages to finish reading the papers and writes up a reasonable summary before he needs to leave. The commute is slower, being as it’s Saturday, but he still finds himself slumped into a cushy Starbucks chair before too long. He checks his phone; 11:37. Still got time. He pulls himself out of the chair and orders another coffee, mostly just to occupy his time. By the time his coffee slides over the counter, Marco has arrived, sidling up to Jean and nudging the blonde’s shoulder with his own.

“Hey,” he says smoothly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh, hey,” Jean replies lamely, stirring some milk into his coffee. “You wanna do this here, or…?”

“Mmm,” Marco squints at the menu, pursing his lips a little. “I thought we could go back to my place. Let me grab some coffee first, though.”

“Yeah.” Jean leans against the milk island and watches Marco maneuver through the line, order his drink, and come to lean against the counter next to him. He wonders if spending a whole day together will make them hate each other. Probably not, if Marco’s soothing presence is any indicator. He seems like the kind of dude that it’s impossible to get mad at or annoyed with. 

The barista calls Marco’s name, and he thanks her as he takes his coffee. Whatever it is, it smells super sweet, Jean notes as Marco comes back to his side and nods in the direction of the door. He doesn’t mind it.

“So, what’s your major?” Marco stops and opens the door for Jean again. Dammit.

“Neuroscience. You?”

“Psych, cognitive neuro minor.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Marco laughs, sipping his drink. “Trying to go to grad school and do some research.”

“Same,” Jean says, looking at his slightly leaking coffee. “What are you thinking?”

“Mmm, not sure yet,” Marco says, blowing out a white puff of vapor. His cheeks are turning red from the slight chill. “I definitely want to go clinical at some point. I was thinking PTSD therapy, maybe with kids.”

“So why are you going research?”

“I really like my neuro classes. It’s an option. What about you?”

“I was thinking of applying to Alzheimer’s research programs,” Jean mumbles, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. 

“Oh? Someone in your family?”

Jean nods. “My granddad.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“It’s okay,” Jean sighs, running a hand through his hair. It really is; his granddad’s been a little off since he was little, but it took half a college education for him to figure out what was happening. 

“My house is up here,” Marco says, pulling his keys out of his pockets. They’d cleared five blocks in almost record time, Jean notes. “My roommates are home, by the way, so pardon the smell.”

Jean smiles and climbs the stairs behind the brunette. They enter the main hallway, Marco knocking twice on the door directly to the right of the entrance before heading up the stairs. They’re narrow, Jean notes, wondering how much of a bitch it was to move stuff into this apartment. 

“Jesus, guys, come on,” Marco says with a pained groan, bringing Jean out of his introspection. He smells the pot then and grins. “At least do that in your room.”

“No way!” Sounds like Connie hasn’t changed much. “Heyyyyy, horse-face!”

Jean flips Connie off and stares (definitely not pouting) at the wall next to him. Connie and Sasha are sprawled across each other on a dark green couch, legs tangled, passing an intimidatingly large bong between them. 

“Oh, Jean, hey!” Sasha waves with both her hands, having been relieved of the bong. “Been a while, huh?”

Marco grabs Jean’s sleeve and drags him up another set of stairs. “I can’t stand the smell,” he explains, wrinkling his nose. 

Jean follows Marco into what he assumes is his room; it’s obnoxiously clean, and smells way better than the dank slowly filling the lower floor. He pauses to sniff his hoodie, and grimaces when he discovers a slight pot smell.

“Sorry about that,” Marco says, setting his bag on a coffee table he’d set up by the bed. 

“You not a big partier?” Jean sets his bag down and sits on the floor next to the short table. 

“Not really,” the brunette sighs as he sinks down across from Jean. “I never really got over the cough, and I don’t have much time for it, so.”

“Fair.”

“You?” Marco leans backward to grab his notebook off of his desk, and his shirt rides up a little. Jean stares into his backpack.

“From time to time,” Jean responds, piling his shit on the coffee table and pulling out his summary. “I drink more than I smoke, though.” He pulls out his laptop and dusts it a little self-consciously. “So, Monday’s test or cell final?” 

Marco seems to ponder for a moment. He flips through his notes, grimacing at the repeating material from class to class. “You know, I feel like if I don’t get these pathways by now I’m not going to. Let’s just work on the cell final.” He smiles up at Jean, who is trying to coerce his laptop into functioning properly. It gets crotchety in winter. “Did you make it through the bioethics stuff?”

“Yeah, in parts,” Jean says, making a triumphant sound when the computer boots. He really hopes he hadn’t been looking at porn before he shut it off. “I wrote a summary of the stuff the essay questions ask, figured we could switch.”

“Ah,” Marco says, dragging his own laptop out from under the bed. Jean’s focused on trying to find an unprotected wifi, so he misses the blush that spreads briefly across Marco’s cheeks. 

“Do you steal internet from your neighbors?”

“Nah, ours is ‘this internet is for porn.’” Jean looks at Marco with his eyebrows raised. “Connie named it,” Marco explains, laughing and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Ah,” Jean says, returning his gaze to the screen. “Password?”

“Uh,” Marco laughs, pulling a sheet of paper at random over and scrawling the password on it.

Jean blinks, then shakes his head. ‘NSArulesdontstopme6969’ seems like something Connie would come up with, yeah. He signs in to the network and twiddles a pen while it connects and verifies and all that shit. “Did you do the retinal implant shit?”

“Mm, yeah, but probably not as thoroughly as you,” Marco hums, leaning his chin into his hand. “I just took notes in the margins. How about we write up our own parts first, and I’ll write you something more useful, then we switch?”

“Okay,” Jean mumbles, already pulling his notes toward him. 

They settle into a comfortable working silence, typing away at their individual work. Connie and Sasha are suspiciously quiet for a good amount of time before they run up and down the stairs like elephants a few times, then out the door. Marco sighs and checks the clock; three p.m. already. He cracks his back and stands up. “You want a drink or anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Jean mumbles, eyes narrowed almost accusingly at the assignment paper. Marco shrugs and runs downstairs, coming back up with a few bottles of water. 

A few more hours pass; Jean finishes up his half before Marco, so he scoots to the other side of the table and sets to translating the brunette’s weirdly curly notes in the margins of the articles. Compared to Jean’s handwriting, Marco’s looks like a Catholic schoolgirl’s. 

“Done,” Marco says triumphantly, saving the file and turning to look at Jean. “Sorry that took so long.”

“It’s cool,” Jean mumbles, slouching over a little. He grimaces and stands up, stretching as far as he can manage. “Man, fuck this final. Hanji’s a nutjob.”

Marco laughs, looking up at the blonde. “Yeah, but they know what they’re doing.”

Jean rests his interlaces fingers on his head, looking around Marco’s room. He doesn’t have many posters; most of them appear to be random theatre posters from years past. “Hey, you wanna take a break?”

“Definitely,” Marco groans and flops backwards onto the floor. “What’re you thinking?”

“Let’s go get a beer,” Jean says, smiling down at his friend. “There’s a pretty good bar near here, right?”

“Oh, the 104th? Yeah, that place is cool, but it might be a little overrun. It is Saturday night.”

“Whatever, I’ve got pointy elbows.” Jean offers his hand to Marco, which the brunette gratefully accepts, his knees cracking loudly as he stands. Jean laughs. “Old man.”

Marco shoves Jean’s shoulder playfully. “Bony. Let’s go. You got your ID?”

“Yep,” Jean says, patting his butt pocket to make sure his wallet is still there. He never leaves home without it.

They pull on their hoodies, Marco jamming a fuzzy brown hat onto his head, and head downstairs. Marco knocks on the door downstairs again, two sharp raps, and this time a female voice comes from inside. “Not now, sorry, bye,” the girl says.

“What’s that?” Jean asks when they hit the sidewalk, turning in the direction of the bar. It’s just a few blocks away. 

“Oh, Annie and Bertholdt’s place. I knock when I come in to say hi, and if I’m going out for fun that’s how I invite them. They both have some crazy finals, though.” Marco stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think Reiner’s in there studying too… haven’t seen him all day.”

“Reiner studies?”

Marco grins. “Only when Bertholdt is there to look nervous in his direction.”

Jean laughs. Sounds about right, honestly. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out to check it. Eren had texted him.

_party tonite at our place dont come if ur gonna suck_

Usually Jean would send him some creative mixture of curse words and vague threats, but he chooses to let it go and just slides his phone back into his pocket.

When they hit the bar, Jean makes sure to beat Marco to the door and open it for him. He’s been keeping track. Marco laughs and slides inside, flashing his ID at the uninterested bouncer. “I guess the rush hasn’t hit yet,” he says as he unzips his hoodie. The music isn’t too loud, and there’s actually room to move between people.

“Go grab us a table,” Marco says as he turns to Jean. “What do you want?”

“Whatever’s cheap,” Jean mumbles, looking around at available tables. He settles on one towards the back corner, away from the pool tables, and slides into the tall chair with a sigh. This place isn’t bad, but it gets really rowdy on the weekends. They probably won’t be able to procrastinate here all night. Which is a shame, because Jean’s kind of feeling the “shitfaced” vibe.

He pulls out his cell phone and types out a reply to Jaeger.

_get fucked, stay out of my room, what time?_

Marco slides into the seat across from him and hands him a beer. “Two cheap shits, finest they got,” he says with a smile. He inclines his glass toward Jean. Jean taps their glasses together and takes a deep swig. Yup, cheap shit indeed. 

Jean’s phone buzzes in his pocket, so he flips it out onto the table. Marco laughs. “Do you always toss your phone around like that?”

“It can take it,” the blonde responds as he reads the text.

_i dont know whenever to whenever_

So helpful. He goes back to his beer and looks around the bar.

“Girlfriend texting you?”

Jean looks over at Marco. “Nah, don’t got one of those.” He sips his drink and glances at his phone, still on the table. “Roommate’s throwing a party at our house.” He realizes briefly that he doesn’t really know anything about Marco. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“The girlfriend thing.”

“Oh, no,” Marco laughs. “I had someone back home before I left for college, but we split after graduation.”

Jean nods. He’d honestly been a pretty big loser in high school, so all of his game came from college. What game he has, anyway. 

“I wasn’t really keen on the whole high school sweetheart thing,” Marco continues. He fiddles with his fingers a little bit. “I was seeing someone a while ago, but we kinda ran out of things to talk about, so.”

Not really sure what to say, Jean nods. He doesn’t really get too into the whole sharing and caring thing, and his last relationship was embarrassingly long ago. “Sorry to hear it,” he says into his beer, deliberately not mentioning himself. Marco seems perceptive and doesn’t ask.

They talk amiably for a while, the bar filling up and getting louder around them, until one beer has turned into seven and two rounds of shots, and the music is so loud that they have to lean over and shout in each other’s ears to be heard.

“Let’s get out of here,” Marco hollers, polishing off his beer and grinning. His face is more than a little red. “It’s really loud.”

Jean nods and chugs his beer as well, sliding off his chair after putting the glass on the table a little too loudly. The booze definitely did wonders for his temperament, and he finds himself strolling down the chilly street with a definite bounce in his step.

“What now?” Marco asks, zipping up his hoodie all the way.

“There’s an arcade a few blocks over,” Jean says with a grin. “Wanna get your ass kicked in air hockey?”

“Oh, poor Jean,” the brunette says, shaking his head sadly. “You know not what you do.”

Jean retaliates by shoving Marco’s shoulder and turning down the street leading toward the arcade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled really hard to not make marco say "you know nothing, JEAN snow"
> 
> ugh sorry this chapter is kinda boring. just stick with me guys. it gets better i promise ;;


	3. Ties, Losses, and Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot to learn about other people, whether you realize it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally my favorite thing ever guys omg.

They make it to the arcade, buy an exorbitant amount of tokens, and move through the somewhat crowded building in search of the air hockey table. (Many teasing insults and vague threats had been made on the way, and there’s no way they can’t settle this deathmatch.) They find the table out of order, though, refusing to start air flow.

Marco looks at the table, then back to Jean. “Hard mode?”

Jean grins widely and takes his position, snagging the puck. “Hard mode.”

Hard mode doesn’t really begin to cover it, though; without the air flow, significantly more force has to be applied to even move the puck, and by the time they’re tied 5-5 Jean is convinced that his arm is going to fall off.

“Let’s call it a tie,” Marco laughs, scratching the back of his head. The slightly drunken flush hasn’t faded from his cheeks. 

“Heh,” Jean replies, playing it cool. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m kicking your ass.”

“Oh, definitely,” Marco says, rolling his eyes, before coming around the table to nudge Jean with his shoulder. “Marvel Versus Capcom rematch?”

“Yes!” Jean says excitedly, digging into the mass of metal coins weighing down his hoodie pocket. 

Let it never be said that Jean didn’t try his damnedest. He may have even considering cheating at some point, but his pride prevented it. He allows Marco’s Captain America to stomp his (obviously better) Spiderman into the dust with a face akin to that of the captain of a sinking ship. One could almost hear the sad trumpets. 

“Okay,” Jean says, leaning against the wall next to the incredibly noisy Star Trek pinball machine Marco is struggling with. “Level with me.”

“Mhm,” Marco grunts, tongue poking out between his lips, obviously focused on the shiny ball banging off little plastic Enterprises. 

“How are you so good at fighting games?” Jean narrows his eyes suspiciously and crosses his arms. “It’s unreal.”

“I have a little brother,” Marco says as he jams his fingers against the buttons on the sides. His focus is indomitable, and the machine makes incredibly unconvincing laser sounds. Jean waits for Captain Kirk to stop ordering around eight-bit redshirts on the screen above the pinball field before he speaks again.

“How old is he?”

“Ummm,” Marco mumbles, definitely not bumping his hip against the machine to gain a slight edge. “Ten now.”

Quite the age difference. Marco throws his hands in the air as his last ball shoots straight down the field between his flippers and the machine makes a disappointed ruckus. “I have been, and always shall be, your friend,” pixelated Kirk says, and Marco sighs almost longingly. 

“You wanna try?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smiles at Jean, nodding toward the machine. 

“Nah,” the blonde says, turning instead toward the Dark Knight machine. “If I have to listen to Spock die again, I’ll probably cry.”

Marco laughs and slides between the machines to sit on the stool tucked away there. “Definitely. At least it’s not forever.”

“True.” Jean slides four tokens into the pinball machine and watches the lights go crazy, the Joker laughing and asking him which side is the asylum. “So you’re, what, eleven, twelve years older?”

“Yup, around there.” Marco leans forward, elbows on his knees, and watches the lights go nuts on the board. “My mom got remarried when I was six, and had my brother when I was eleven.” He laughs, lacing his fingers together. Jean hammers at the flipper buttons, cheating significantly more than Marco had. “Yup, April 7th, 2003, the day any hope I had for a quiet life went right out the window. I decided to be a good brother, though, and teach him the ways.”

Jean looks briefly at Marco, then flicks his eyes back to the game. “That his birthday?”

“Mhm,” Marco replies. He winces as Jean’s first ball flies between the flippers and the Joker cackles at them both, ending on a high wheeze. “He’s gonna be eleven soon already. Kinda hard to believe.”

Jean pauses with his hand on the launcher, contemplating. “That’s my birthday too,” he says finally, launching the ball and signaling Harley Quinn’s cocky insults. 

Marco raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Coincidences, huh.” 

“I was here first,” Jean says with a grin, his eyes leaving the board for just a moment.

“Yeah,” the brunette sighs, digging his phone out and scrolling through it. “He’s probably way cooler than you, though.”

“Aw, what?” Jean grumbles and jostles the machine. 

“Yeah, he cosplayed a Hobbit for the opening of the first movie last year. Probably will this year, too.”

Jean laughs, losing his second ball in his chuckles. “Okay, that’s pretty cool.”

Marco hands Jean his phone before he launches his last ball, and Jean can’t help but cackle at the picture Marco and his brother make. Marco had neglected to mention that he’d donned a green cape as well, and they were both making their best attempts at intimidating faces. Jean hands the phone back and launches the last ball. “You guys are dorks,” he laughs, jamming the flipper button and launching the ball into the Joker’s huge, open grin. The machine makes a cacophonous noise and alerts him that he’s won an extra ball.

“Yeah, I told you I raised him well,” Marco says, looking fondly at his phone. “He’s a lot taller now, though. Probably almost my height.”

Jean’s eyebrows shoot into his hair at that; both of them definitely clear six feet, and Marco’s an inch or two taller. “And he’s eleven?”

“Yup, his dad is crazy tall.” Marco hums and starts scrolling through his pictures. “Like six-seven or something. I was terrified of him when I was little, until he started giving me piggy-back rides everywhere. I felt so big.” Marco trails off with a fond smile, moving through pictures of notes on whiteboards and chemical reactions in his search for family photos. “He’s a good match for my mom. I never had a problem with him.”

Jean knocks the pinball back into the bumpers and glances at Marco again while the plastic barrels make gunfire sounds, a tinny explosion sounding whenever he gets knocked up to the next multiplier. “What about your dad?” It’s too late once the words are out of his mouth, but for once Jean kind of regrets his lack of tact. 

Marco shrugs, smiling up at Jean. “My mom left him when I was younger. I think he just wasn’t what she was hoping for in the end. I don’t blame her. The divorce wasn’t bad. I didn’t have to move or anything, and there wasn’t a custody battle. I was four when he left, so I don’t really remember him to begin with.”

Jean nods, turning his eyes back to the board and cursing softly as his ball shoots straight through the flippers again. Damn rigged-ass game. Batman gurgles something about having another chance, and Jean launches his fourth ball. 

“They got married when she got pregnant with me, and they were both pretty young, so.” Marco makes a triumphant noise and lets his phone dangle as he turns his attention back to Jean. “What about your family? Any siblings?”

Grunting and jostling the machine again, Jean shakes his head. He’d just barely managed to nudge the ball into his flipper, rocketing it up into the bumpers again. “Nope, just me. I guess my childhood was pretty uneventful.” He juggles the ball as it comes back down, shooting it around the rim. The machine makes what he assumes is a Batmobile ruckus as the ball shoots back around to the flippers. “I was born and raised in the same house, went to the same school with the same people, and my parents were my parents.”

“What do they do?”

“Dad’s a lawyer, and mom’s a stay-at-home mom. Shit like parties with her mom-friends and decorating the hell out of the house for Christmas make her happy, so. Besides, my dad makes enough money that she doesn’t need a job.” Jean wonders if it’s obvious that he’s used to having to defend his mother from progressive thinking. He curses again and shoots the ball around a short bend, and a bank alarm sounds. The Joker cackles and mocks Jean. “What about your parents?”

“Mm, stepdad’s a contractor, and my mom’s a nurse. They’re both pretty busy. I guess that’s why I ended up with my brother from a young age.” Marco laughs. “Not that I’m complaining. The daycare used to laugh at me when I came to pick him up, though. They said he seemed happier to see me than he did either of our parents.”

Jean smiles and lets his last ball sink. Batman yells, the Joker laughs, and the machine goes back into its display mode, lights chasing each other relatively more calmly. “How cute,” he says, leaning his hip against the machine. 

Marco laughs and pulls out his phone, handing it to Jean to show him the picture. He leans closer and looks at the picture too. “Okay, so that’s my stepdad, that’s my mom, that’s me, and that’s Hugh.” Jean laughs at the height difference between Marco’s mom and his stepdad; the guy was easily a foot and a half taller than she was, and had to lean down a little to be in the picture properly. “This is a picture I found when we were cleaning out the basement over the summer. I think… yeah, I must have been fourteen, so Hugh was two.” In the picture, teenage Marco is grinning widely and squishing his face against the toddler’s, who looks like he’s struggling a little on his mother’s hip. Jean’s smile softens as he looks at young Marco, who was much tanner and, if possible, frecklier; he had thick, dorky glasses, metal braces, and a reasonably-sized gap between his front teeth.

Holding up the phone to compare the picture to the real thing, Jean laughs. “I guess growing up did you a favor, huh?” Marco laughs and snatches his phone back. He hops off the stool and jerks his thumb toward the skeeball in the corner.

“I don’t really keep family pictures around,” Jean says as they move toward the game, handing Marco a few tokens. Marco easily dodges a little kid sprinting by, knocking his hip into Jean’s as he does. “My mom goes crazy for shit like that, though. Every time I bring a girl home, she whips out the photo albums and everything turns into a girly mess.” Grumbling at Marco’s loud laughter, Jean sets up at the machine against the wall, feeding it a token. “Seriously, it’s bad. I think it’s why I never got laid in high school.”

They play a few rounds of skeeball, Marco pocketing their tickets as they win them. He tries and fails to stifle his laughter in his sleeve when Jean gets fed up with his shitty scores and climbs up the machine to cheat a few hundred-point balls in. How they don’t get caught is a mystery, but the pile of tickets is well worth the risk.

By the time they’ve played all the working games in the place (and Marco plays a somewhat embarrassing round of Guitar Hero, much to Jean’s amusement) and run out of tokens, Marco’s pockets are bursting with tickets. They feed them to the ticket counter, leaning over the receipt excitedly as they worm their way through the remaining kids to the prize counter.

“Too bad we didn’t get enough for the flatscreen,” Jean says, pointing to the obviously empty TV box hanging on the wall.

“We can get enough candy to feed a small country, though,” Marco replies, grinning. They wait for the prize guy to stop trying to explain basic math to a bunch of surly teenagers, Jean’s hands stuffed in his pockets. The alcohol has beyond worn off by now, but he still feels somewhat giddy. It’s definitely the anticipation of a pile of Pixy Stix, for sure. 

As Marco mumbles next to him, tallying up the prices of sugary treats, Jean hears very familiar synthetic beats come over the speakers, inexplicably louder than all the other music they’d been playing. His lips move, his tongue clicking out the rhythm line of “do-do-doos” that is so distinctive to Duran Duran. Fuck you, okay, that song is amazing.

Marco pops up next to him, oddly close, and Jean pauses with his lips pursed. He almost starts blushing until the brunette gives him a huge grin and belts out the chorus in his ear. “In touch with the ground, I’m on the hunt, I’m after you!”

Jean laughs and, despite himself, joins in, the two of them stirring up a clamor at the end of the counter. “A scent and a sound, I’m lost and I’m found! And I’m hungry like the wolf!” Marco breaks into some kind of dorky eighties dance, and Jean can’t help but laugh until his sides hurt.

The noise is enough to bring the grouchy prize vendor over to them, and they load up on Pixy Stix, DumDums, and Fun Dip. The vendor asserts that no, he definitely does not have a bag, and please have a great night. Meaning get your loud, dorky asses out, of course.

As they tumble out of the arcade and start walking back towards Marco’s apartment, the great debate starts up as to the quintessential 80s pop song. 

“No no,” Marco says, dumping purple sugar onto his tongue. “I don’t think you understand how important _Rio_ is. Come on, ‘her name is Rio, and she dances on the sand?’”

Jean rolls his eyes and stuffs a sugar-coated Fun Dip sugar stick into his mouth. Marco takes the opportunity to shimmy his shoulders, dancing in front of Jean as they walk, using another Pixy Stick as a microphone as he sings the chorus. 

“No way, man,” Jean says, stuffing the stick back into offensively pink sugar. “ _A Little Respect_ beats it out. And,” he points at Marco with the stick, “It was central to that one Scrubs episode.” Jean pops the stick into his mouth, content with his defense.

Marco considers him, opening another Pixy Stick. “Okay, how about this. I will admit that you’re right,” a grin spreads over his face again. “If you can sing the chorus.”

Jean pauses. “Are you kidding? No human besides Andy Bell can possibly hit that note.”

“Rio wins!” Marco throws his hands in the air.

Just as Jean is gearing up to respond, his phone vibrates insistently in his pocket. He pulls it out and answers the call, grumbling a “What?” around his candy stick.

“Hey,” Eren yells from the other end. “Are you coming or what?”

Jean stops at the intersection as they approach it, looking up at the street signs. “You said not to come.”

“No, I said not to come if you’re gonna suck. Bring your study buddy.” The phone beeps into Jean’s ear, signaling that the call is over. 

“Okay,” Jean says, recoating his candy. “So my roommate wants us to go to this party. You wanna get a little fucked up?”

Marco raises his eyebrows and checks the time. It’s still earlier than he’d expected, just a little past eleven. “I don’t really have a reason to say no,” he says, pocketing his phone and smiling at Jean. “Am I gonna know anyone there?”

“Probably,” Jean says, nodding. He shifts the stick to rest in his cheek, sucking on it as they stand at the corner. “We do know a lot of the same people, and Eren knows them too.”

“Eren Jaeger?” Marco smiles brightly.

“The one and only,” Jean grouses. 

“I didn’t know you lived with him. I had a basic class with him. English comp, I think.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jean deadpans, turning up the street toward the subway. “Let’s take the train down to King’s Ave, I live at 10th and Trost.”

Marco trots a little to catch up, and they chat idly as they walk the few blocks and head down into the subway.

“Do you take the train every day?” Marco sucks on a lollipop and leans against the metal barrier, one of two on either side of the train’s door. Jean leans on the other and shakes his head.

“Nah, I catch a bus up.” The door beside them opens and they let people board the train, pulling their feet in a little. The tagged metal slams shut after a few seconds, and the train lurches forward again, the tinny speakers announcing the next stop. “It’s more annoying, but faster.”

Marco nods thoughtfully, hand reaching up to grab the pole next to him. The train screeches as it rounds a bend and the bored voice reminds passengers to take their belongings as they leave the train. “I lived in a dorm last year, so I’ve never really had to commute.”

Jean nods, chomping on his third Fun Dip stick. Honestly, the stick alone tastes way better than the sugar. 

People filter between them again, coming in and out of the train, and they settle into a companionable silence as the train rattles along its tracks. People in the car shout into their phones and play loud music and talk shit at each other, but it’s normal enough that neither of them are bothered. Jean stares out the windows in the doors, watching the graffiti-covered tunnel wiz by. He occasionally sees movement in the dark, thinking that it’s a little early for the tunnel taggers to be out. 

They slide out at the King’s Ave stop, Jean waiting for a bunch of impatient people to elbow past them before moving to reunite with Marco. Their pockets are still filled with candy, despite the excellent job they’ve been doing in devouring it, and Jean finds a few stray tokens in his pocket. 

As they come up to Jean’s house, it’s clear where the party’s at. Eren’s already on the roof, and he hollers down to them. Jean shakes his head and Marco waves, gesturing at his ear to indicate that he can’t make out what the other is yelling from three stories up. Jean drags him inside and they trek up three flights of stairs.

The door is unlocked, and the apartment is filled with people. Jean notices that an impromptu bar apparently got set up behind their couch, most of the thin table covered in half-consumed bottles.

“You can toss your hoodie in my room,” Jean says, leaning closer to make sure Marco hears him. He holds his hand out and takes Marco’s hoodie as it’s offered to him, moving between people to get to his (thankfully untouched) room.

When he comes back out, he stops along his way to shake a few hands and greet a few people before sidling back into the main room. Marco’s leaning into the couch, already sipping a drink out of the mandatory red Solo cup. Jean pours himself a drink too, liberally applying cheap vodka to a mild amount of Coke, and plops down on the couch next to Marco.

“Welcome,” he says, offering his cup in a cheer to his friend. The brunette smiles and clicks their cups together, and they both drink. 

“Do you guys party a lot?” Marco gestures to the gratuitous amount of alcohol behind their heads and Jean grimaces.

“Nah, we only keep a few things around. Mandatory bottle of Jack Daniels, something fruity for the ladies, some shitty vodka… you know.”

Marco laughs. “We just keep a few cans of beer around, nothing too intense. Connie and Sasha don’t drink too much, anyways, and Reiner gets too aggressive when he drinks hard liquor.”

“And you?” Jean takes another sip, peering at Marco over the rim of his cup.

“Nah, I don’t really drink unless I’m doing something,” Marco says, leaning forward a little to grab at Eren’s super-impressive ‘coffee-table reading.’ It’s some collection of National Geographic pictures, which Marco flips through idly. Jean rests his arm on the back of the couch and looks around.

Several people come up and say hi, stopping to have conversations occasionally; a girl (Mina, Marco had called her) sits on the coffee table facing Marco and chats him up about her graduation party for a while. Jean slowly drains his drink, happy to have the warm buzz of alcohol back in him. He crosses his legs, resting his ankle on his knee, as he tries to make a point at Eren, who is absolutely refusing to listen to logic. Nothing new. Jean’s bent knee rests on Marco’s, but neither of them notice. 

A blonde guy runs up and abducts Mina, excitedly informing her that he’s about to do a keg stand and she absolutely must watch, and Eren bounds off to make fun of him while he does it. Eren’s favorite thing at parties is making beer come out of peoples’ noses when they try to do keg stands, and it’s a messy hobby.

Jean and Marco each go through a few more refills, feeling pretty giddy, and Marco pulls his phone out to show Jean the absolutely nuts texts Connie had sent him a few weeks ago when he and a few friends had seriously underestimated some pot cookies. Jean scrolls through them, laughing at misspelled accusations of unicorns, and Marco leans closer, pointing out his favorite parts.

Mina comes over while Jean is reading, a big grin on his face, and Marco talks to her again about how seriously Thomas had failed his keg stand.

Jean scrolls through the texts even after it seems like the conversation is over, until he sees his name in the most recent batch. He knows he shouldn’t, but he really can’t help reading.

_Marco: How come you never mentioned you know Jean Kirschtththc?_  
 _Connie: oh man u know him_  
 _Marco: Yeah, we have like all the same classes._  
 _Connie: o iunno lol_  
 _Connie: we went to high school together_  
 _Connie: hes alright_  
 _Marco: Oh, neat. I wish you'd said something before. He's cool. :]_  
 _Connie: oooooh marcooooo_  
 _Marco: Wha?_  
 _Connie: get ittttt_  
 _Marco: CONNIE NO_  
 _Connie: hahah bend and snap bull_  
 _Marco: I really hate you sometimes Connie ;[_  
 _Connie: hahahah_  
 _Connie: u love me_  
 _Connie: invite him to our post finals party_  
 _Connie: i wanna see him crunky lunky_  
 _Marco: Maybe. He's coming over tomorrow to study, I'll mention it._  
 _Connie: GETTTT ITTT MARCOOOOOO_  
 _Marco: I'm done. :[_  
 _Connie: hahahahahahah_  
 _Connie: were rooting for u bae_  


__

Jean stares blankly at Marco’s phone, reading and rereading the texts and wondering if he’s catching Connie’s drift right. He’s pulling at the screen to see if there’s anything following that (there isn’t) when Marco turns back from Mina and glances down. 

Jean contemplates the phone, then Marco, and notices that the brunette’s smile is a little tense now.

“Hey, Marco.”

“Yeah?”

Jean stares back down at Marco’s phone, examining the texts from Connie. “Are you gay?”


	4. Half-State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean judges himself and others, but gets what he wants in the end.

Marco is silent for a moment. Jean peeks up at him through his bangs. He looks a little pale. “Uh,” the brunette stammers, reaching over to delicately retrieve his phone. “No, I’m bi,” he says, running his thumb over the screen idly before stuffing the phone back into his pocket. 

A brief pause. Marco sips his drink carefully. “Does that weird you out?”

Jean’s not really sure. He’s used to Eren’s big gay shenanigans (which really aren’t anything of note), and they’d already had that insanely awkward ‘so like how you do even like _do it_ with another dude’ conversation a few years ago. Jean takes a deep swig of his drink and decides that no, it doesn’t bother him. What does bother him, though, is the sort of anticipatory anxiety curling in his stomach. Why is he suddenly so nervous?

“No,” he says finally, staring over Marco’s shoulder. He refuses to remove his arm from the couch behind the brunette, almost as a show of solidarity. A few moments pass before Jean chances a glance at his friend.

Marco’s face is almost unreadable, but definitely grateful. He nods and sips his drink again, looking around the room some more.

They’re both quieter now. The party rages around them, but Jean’s arm stays on the back of the couch and his knee doesn’t pull away from Marco’s.

“Oy, Jean!” The blonde looks up at his roommate, who’s hanging out of the skylight like a dumbass. “Wanna smoke?”

“Smoke what?”

“A cigarette, you fucking asshat. Come up here, I’ve got words.”

Jean rolls his eyes and stands up. He kneels on the couch and reaches over toward the impromptu bar on the table behind them. “I’ve gotta go please the princess,” he mumbles in Marco’s general direction. After grabbing and opening a beer, he turns back toward the brunette. “I saw Reiner around here somewhere, want me to go find him so you’re not sitting here alone like a big dweeb?”

Marco laughs lightly, taking another sip of his drink. “Nah, man, I think he’s here with Bertholdt and Annie. Don’t wanna play fourth wheel. I’ll be fine here, I’ve got Angry Birds.” The brunette waves his phone and smiles widely. “Go tell the princess how pretty she is. I’ll be here.”

Jean laughs loudly and slaps Marco on the shoulder, standing once again. He’s almost hesitant to go, as if he’s nervous Marco will leave or something, but he does anyway. He climbs up the ladder through the skylight and comes to sit on the roof next to Eren, who wordlessly hands him a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

They sit and smoke in silence for a while, trying to inconspicuously flick their ashes on each other’s clothes. It's about a cigarette and a half for Eren before he speaks. “So how’s Marco?”

“Uh,” Jean says eloquently, sliding a second cigarette between his lips and fishing around for the lighter. “Fine, I guess. Busy?”

“Smooth,” Eren snorts, flicking his cigarette off the roof. He takes a deep swig of his beer and lays back on the roof. “You like him, don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“He’s pretty chill, I guess.” Jean inhales deeply and blows smoke out of his nose, for funsies. “Smart.”

“No, you asshole,” Eren laughs, lifting a leg and kicking at Jean’s back. 

“Oh. Uh. I mean…” Jean trails off, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He stares out at the city, tall buildings brightly lit in the distance making a distinctive skyline. He knows this skyline from all angles, but this is his favorite. It takes a few minutes of pondering before he realizes that, shit, maybe the anxiety in his gut isn’t anxiety. Butterflies, though? For real?

“Fuck,” he says, flicking his ashes and flopping back next to Eren. “Fuck,” he repeats, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Watch where you’re tossing that thing, man,” Eren complains, taking Jean’s cigarette, finishing it off, and chucking it off the roof. “If it helps, I don’t think he’s too turned off by your big horse face.”

“Fuck you,” Jean groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He reaches down into the hole created by his crossed legs and retrieves his beer, draining it in a few deep gulps. “What do I do?”

“Are you okay with that? Marco being a dude, I mean.”

Jean ponders this for a few more minutes, staring up at the sky. He wishes there were stars in the city. Instead, the sky just sort of turns a dark orange for a few hours and they call that night. “I don’t see why not,” he says finally, turning to look at Eren. The brunette lights another cigarette. Both of them are going to have sore lungs tomorrow. Jean steals the cigarette for himself, earning a punch to the gut, but Eren lights another one anyway. “I mean, it’d be dumb to turn down the chance for something cool just because he’s got an outie instead of an innie.”

“Dude…”

“What?”

“Never say that shit to me again. That’s gross-sounding.”

Jean laughs and sucks in another lungful of smoke. “It’s true.”

“You’ve never even fucked around with guys before, right?”

“Nah,” Jean says, dipping his thumb idly into the opening of his empty beer bottle. 

“You should let him put it in you.”

Jean grimaces and stares at Eren. “Dude, now who’s gross?”

Eren grins and flips Jean off. He sits up heavily, groaning and finishing off his cigarette before standing. “Come on, queen bee, let’s get back down. They’re gonna think we’re fucking or something.”

“Never,” Jean says around his cigarette. “Never ever ever. You just keep diddling yourself to that fantasy, dipshit.” 

“I’m not into bestiality,” Eren says, laughing loudly as he slides down the ladder into their apartment.

Jean sighs and stares back up at the sky, leisurely finishing his smoke. He notices Eren was kind enough to leave the half-full pack for him. Good, he might need some introspecting time, and nothing clears the head like a few shots of nicotine. 

He stares at the sky for a while longer until Marco’s head pops out of the skylight and scares the shit out of him. “Jesus, dude, a little warning next time.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Marco laughs, holding out a beer to Jean. “Can I come up?”

Jean takes a swig of the beer and motions for Marco to join him.

“Thanks.” They sit in amiable silence for a while, Jean chain-smoking perhaps a little more than is actually necessary. “I didn’t know you smoked,” the brunette says, smiling at Jean.

“Sorry, does it bother you?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Fresh smoke on clothes smells good.” Marco sips his beer. Always with the damn sipping. “It’s when it starts to smell old that it gets a little gross.”

“Yeah, true. Well, I only smoke when I drink, so.”

“Fair enough.” Marco leans on his knees, legs crossed. “Did you stroke the princess’s ego?”

Jean swallows a lump in his throat. He takes a swig of his drink before answering. “You know how needy these kids get.”

The brunette hums in agreement. 

“How was it downstairs?”

“Mm, same old,” Marco says, turning to face Jean as he leans back on one hand. “Eren fell out of the skylight screaming about shots, then they all started playing some weird drinking game. I don’t really do shots like that, so I figured I’d hide up here with you.” Marco may have turned a little red. It’s hard to see up here. “If that’s cool.”

“You’re up here, aren’t you?”

“Hah, yeah, I guess.”

Jean eyes Marco for a while before flicking his cigarette into the darkness and immediately lighting another one.

“You’re like a chimney,” Marco says with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, I hit that sweet spot where I’m tipsy enough to want cigarettes but not drunk enough to forget that they’re here.”

“Don’t smoke yourself out!”

Jean laughs and chugs half of his beer in a few gulps. They look into the distance for a while, and Jean doesn’t light another cigarette after he finishes this one. 

“Hey, Marco.”

Marco hums in acknowledgement, blinking at Jean around his beer. 

“How did you know you were… you know, bi?”

The brunette hums again and furrows his brow, setting his beer back between his legs. “Ah, you know. High school hormones.”

“Have you ever been with a guy?”

Marco definitely blushes, hard enough to be seen in the low light. “Yeah,” he says, voice wavering just a bit. “I, uh, had a few boyfriends.”

Jean hums, chugging the rest of his beer. He stands suddenly, jamming the mostly-empty pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, and offers his hand to Marco. “Let’s go get in on that drinking game.”

“Aw, man,” Marco sighs, allowing Jean to help pull him up. “Connie’s gonna have to carry me home.”

“Like he even can,” Jean laughs, cracking his back.

Marco laughs loudly and looks a little embarrassed. “Actually, uh…”

Jean rests his twined fingers on his head. He raises his eyebrows, clearly interested. 

“Well…”

“Come on, man, don’t leave me hanging,” Jean says, leaning down to grab his empty beer bottle. 

“Ohh, you’re gonna make fun of me…” Marco covers his face with his free hand, peeking at Jean between his fingers. “Fine, uh. On my twenty-first, I got a little… irresponsibly hammered and Connie had to give me a piggy-back ride home.”

Jean doubles over laughing at the image, grabbing his stomach. “Oh my god, that image is priceless,” he gasps, reaching up to wipe a tear out of his eye. “I’m crying. That’s awesome.”

Marco grins, still beet red. “It, uh…”

The blonde looks at Marco, one foot resting on the ladder. He raises an eyebrow and grins. “It gets better?”

“I, hmm…” Marco pauses, twiddling his fingers, before he grins bashfully at Jean. “I kind of sang Connie love songs all the way home.”

Jean gapes at Marco before he starts laughing riotously, sitting down on the edge of the skylight and gripping his sides. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“Yep,” Marco says, scratching the back of his head. “I may have also given him a charming rendition of No Scrubs.”

Howling with laughter, Jean collapses back against the roof, gasping for air between whoops. “Yes,” he finally manages, “We’re definitely getting in on that drinking game. Come on down.” He sits up and slides down the ladder, looking up through the skylight. “And if you get that shitfaced, you may have the pleasure of passing out on my couch.”

“Gosh, thanks,” Marco drawls as he climbs down the ladder, beer stuck in the loose back pocket of his jeans. 

Jean drags him over to the group playing King’s Cup and nudges between Bertholdt and Annie, making enough room to squish Marco in next to him.

The great thing about King’s Cup, Jean thinks as he stares at the slowly spinning ceiling of his living room a little while later, is how quickly it gets you devastatingly plastered. Especially the “drink when you curse” rule. Marco hadn’t really fallen victim to that one, but the “drink when you say drink” and “replace all Ks and Hs with Bs” had fairly slaughtered him.

Jean looks to the left at his friend, who’s leaning heavily against a nervous-looking (but equally hammered) Bertholdt. “Mmm,” Marco slurs, trying very hard to come up with a sentence that wouldn’t end in shots. “Eren, you cursed!” He giggles. “Now you bave to ta-tabe a dri—you bave to imbibe a beverage.” It’s clearly difficult; Jean laughs and runs a hand through his already on-end hair. 

“H—Bey, Marco,” he slurs, trying to focus on the brunette. He gets to his feet, swaying widely before catching himself. He then leans down and grabs Marco’s elbow, hauling him to his feet as well. The brunette flops against Jean with a liquor-scented giggle, none too gracefully righting himself. Jean grabs his friend again and drags him down the hallway toward his bedroom.

“Where we goin’, Jean?” Marco stumbles down the hall after his friend. “Oop, shit, are we still playing? Shit, I said shit… damn!”

Jean laughs and opens his door, tumbling into his messy room and dragging Marco with him. He closes the door behind them. “I think if you take any more shots you might die,” he says, crowding the brunette against the door.

Marco stares at Jean with wide, dark eyes, almost unable to take in how close the blonde is suddenly. “H-hey, what’re you…”

“Nothin’,” Jean says unconvincingly as he leans against Marco, squishing him against the door. “Definitely nothing. Got… whiskey dick.”

“Oh,” Marco says, flicking his eyes downwards as if expecting to see Jean’s ailment. “Uh.”

“Hey, Marco,” Jean mumbles, pushing his face against Marco’s neck and mouthing sloppily at the freckled skin there. His friend shivers under him, unsteady hands coming to grasp at Jean’s shirt. “D’you like me?”

Marco bites his lip, tilting his head to allow Jean access. “Uh,” he says, seeming like he’s trying really hard to focus on making words and not just melting under the blonde’s hot kisses. “Uh, I mean, yeah.” His face flushes darker. “You’re, uh… yeah.”

Jean bites a little at Marco’s neck before pulling away and dragging the brunette toward the bed. He pushes Marco down and sits in his lap. Marco’s hands immediately travel to Jean’s waist, sliding under his shirt to drag his fingers over hot skin. “I like you,” Jean says, attempting to maintain serious eye contact. “I’m also very… very drunk.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Marco stammers, apparently not noticing that he’s started to lean to the side a little.

“Stay here,” Jean commands, standing up and immediately falling on his ass. Marco laughs and tries to help the blonde to his feet.

“You’re like a baby giraffe,” he manages, falling on his side and grinning at Jean, face half buried in the sheets.

Jean grumbles and stumbles out of the room, coming back shortly with a gallon jug of water. “Drink some,” he says as he flops down next to Marco. “Don’t sleep yet.”

“Mm, so smart,” Marco says, uncapping the jug and taking a deep swig. He passes it to Jean. “I bet you’re a big baby when you’re hungover.”

“You have no idea,” Jean groans, taking several deep pulls before handing the jug back. “We gotta finish this before we can sleep.”

Marco sits up and leans against the wall. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Uhhh,” Jean looks for a second like he’s focusing very hard. “It’s… walk out the door and it’s the second… second? Yeah, second door on the left.”

The brunette mutters a thanks and trips out into the hallway. Jean hears Connie and Eren making inappropriate comments, but he settles for leaning against the wall and drinking water rather than shouting obscenities. He’s gonna be pissing for days tomorrow, but it’s better than puking his brains out. Marco comes back a few minutes later, clumsily slamming the door and collapsing next to Jean.

“They’re playing strip something,” Marco mumbles, reaching for the water. It’s almost halfway gone already. 

Jean wrinkles his nose. “I see Eren naked enough as it is.”

Marco peers at Jean around the water bottle, dribbling a little when he pulls it away. “Did you and Eren ever… uh…”

“Dude, ew,” Jean groans, grimacing in the general direction of the party. “Eren and I used to beat the shit out of each other. We still do sometimes. There’s no way.”

Marco laughs, sounding almost relieved. “So, uh.”

“Uh?”

“Yeah. You, uh… like me?”

“Only if you do,” Jean says, leaning his head against the wall. He stares at Marco for a moment before taking the water and drinking. 

“Yeah, I can get behind that,” Marco says, hands resting in his lap.

“Good,” Jean says when he surfaces from the water. He can feel some of his drunkenness fading away, and in its place come rationality and an _extremely_ full bladder. “Uhh, be right back. Keep drinking.”

He ventures out, trying very hard to avoid being seen by the half-naked crowd in the living room. Of course, this fails. “Oy, Kirschtein!”

Jean sighs. “What, Eren?”

“You guys fuckin’?”

The blonde’s middle finger is the last thing into the bathroom before he shuts the door and takes an incredibly satisfying piss. No, they’re not fucking, but Jean can feel something warm curling in his stomach as he washes his hands. He rushes out of the bathroom and back into his room, shutting and locking the door. Marco blinks up at him and smiles, holding out the almost empty jug.

“Thanks,” he says, sinking down next to Marco. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mmm,” Marco says, closing his eyes contentedly. “Still fairly drunk. Don’t think it’s gonna go away until I sleep it off. You?”

Jean laughs. “I didn’t get as smashed as you, so I’m doing pretty okay. Room’s still spinning a little, though.”

He finishes the jug after Marco turns down the last few gulps, capping it and tossing it off the bed. With a grin, Jean grabs his friend’s shoulders and pushes him down on the bed, climbing over top of him and letting his full weight fall onto the brunette.

“Oof,” Marco says with a giggle, reaching his hands up to slide his thumbs into the belt loops of Jean’s pants. “What happened to whiskey dick?”

Jean growls playfully and leans down to kiss Marco, shifting his weight onto his elbow. His free hand wanders down the brunette’s clothed chest, rubbing his side gently. He deepens the kiss, teasing Marco’s lips open and sliding his tongue into the brunette’s mouth. Marco tastes just barely of schnapps, the flavor mostly washed away by the water. Jean pulls away and kisses along the brunette’s jaw. “I don’t kiss with my dick, usually.”

Marco chuckles darkly under him and grins widely, the corner of which Jean can see as he nibbles at Marco’s earlobe. “I’m gonna let that innuendo make itself.”

“Mm,” Jean rumbles, nipping a little harder at Marco’s neck, sighing appreciatively at the way Marco arches up against him with a little gasp. “Dirty.”

Jean moves back up and kisses Marco again, nibbling at his lower lip. “So, Marco…”

“Mm?”

“Do you, uh… have you had sex with a dude?”

Marco flushes and bites his lip, looking adorably embarrassed. “Uh… I mean, yeah. With a girl, too.”

“How many?”

“Times or people?”

Jean considers, running his hand through black hair. “Both.”

“I’ll tell if you do.”

Jean laughs and leans down to suck at Marco’s lip again. “Big baby. Fine. I’ve had sex with three girls, but only a few times.”

“Guys?”

Jean grins. “First time for everything. Your turn.”

Marco swallows and looks nervous. “Uh… I’ve gone all the way with… one guy, and one girl.”

“Look at you,” Jean chuckles. He leans down and kisses along Marco’s neck again, entranced by the other man’s almost sweet smell. “How many times?”

“U-um… the girl, just once…”

“Only once, eh? Not your style?”

“Not that…” Marco pauses, tugging lightly on Jean’s hair. “She’s just… a very very small girl.” Jean stares, not quite getting it. Marco flushes. “She’s legal. A little older than me. I wanted to, but she… couldn’t. Because she’s small. Petite. Very small.” 

Jean gets it. Interesting. So Marco’s hung. Neat. Cool. Uh. He blinks that thought away, having only learned half of the puzzle here.

“And the guy?” Marco’s silent for a while, and Jean can almost hear the gears turning. He occupies himself by kissing along the brunette’s jaw. “If you don’t wanna answer—”

“N-no, it’s okay. I just, uh… I don’t really know.”

Jean blinks, then leans up to look at Marco, who’s hiding his flaming face in his hands. “Eh?”

“I mean… it was… a lot,” Marco says weakly, eyes squeezed shut.

Jean has to process this for a few seconds. When he finally realizes that Marco means he’s had a _lot_ of sex, all the booze keeping his dick soft seems to evaporate. That’s probably the fastest he’s ever gotten so hard, and it makes him a little dizzy. He licks his lips and says, “Are… are you saying that…” Marco whines a little, trying to disappear. “Marco,” Jean says, prying the brunette’s hands away from his face. Dark brown eyes hesitantly meet his. “Are you telling me that you’re a horny little shit?”

Marco groans and shrinks more, averting his eyes. “Uh, I just… I like… I just get worked up easy, okay?”

It’s really hard to not imagine this in exquisite detail. Jean’s mouth is dry, despite all the water they just chugged. He’s still pretty drunk, but it’s the kind of drunk that makes his dick strain at the front of his pants. Jesus Fucking Christ.

“And, uh…” Jean swallows. “Are you, like… a top or a bottom?”

“B-both,” Marco stammers. He’s biting his lip, trying very hard to not look at Jean.

“Marco.”

The brunette swallows and meets Jean’s eyes again. He raises his eyebrows when Jean sits up, straddling his friend. Jean’s face is almost blank, and Marco starts to look a little anxious. Until Jean grabs one of Marco’s hands and presses it against the front of his pants. Marco’s eyebrows shoot up further as his fingers wrap around Jean’s hard cock through the warm material. 

“… U-uh,” he stutters, licking his lips again.

“If you want,” Jean breathes, flushing a little as he rubs his cock against Marco’s hand. He considers his words for a second, dark eyes moving over the brunette. He licks his lips before continuing. “I’ll help you out with that.” Jean rolls his hips against Marco’s hand again, then grins devilishly. “I’ll get you all worked up and help you out as many times as you want.”

Marco bites his lip and groans a little, his own cock starting to harden under Jean. “That’s, uh… that’s cool,” he says, voice wavering a little. 

Jean rolls his hips back against the bulge forming against his ass, grinning wider. Marco shudders, palming at Jean’s cock, and arches his hips up. “We appreciate your enthusiasm,” Jean deadpans as he shifts his position, settling himself between the brunette’s thighs. He reaches down and tugs at Marco’s shirt until it comes off, missing the warm, firm hand against his dick, but all the more pleased to be seeing more skin.

His eyes rake down Marco’s bare, flushed chest, and he licks his dry lips slowly. “J-Jean…” He flicks his gold eyes back up to meet the brunette’s. “U-uh…”

It’s almost hard to admit to himself how _bad_ he wants the man in front of him. He’s never wanted anything this bad, though. He moves himself more firmly between Marco’s thighs, tugging the brunette into his lap, and rolls his hips forward. Marco’s reaction is instantaneous and _fuck_ , so sexy. His eyes shutter closed, back arching just a bit, reacting amazingly to feeling Jean so deep between his legs.

Jean’s never been one to deprive himself of something he wants.

He rolls his hips again, grinding against Marco, and leans down to kiss his friend deeply. Marco’s arms come up and wrap around Jean’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and the brunette’s hips swivel a little in Jean’s lap. Jean gasps against Marco’s lips and he runs his hands down hot, tan skin, fingers mapping out every curve and dip in the brunette’s warm chest. He fucks his tongue into Marco’s mouth, drinking in the soft moans he elicits, before giving a disappointed sound of his own when Marco’s soft hands push at his shoulders. Jean complies, though, and sits back on his heels. 

“What’s up?” Jean runs his hands down Marco’s thighs to his knees, long legs still wrapping around his hips. Marco sits up and _god_ , the look on his face is something else. His lips curl into a smile as he pushes Jean back on the bed, switching their positions, and warm hands push Jean’s shirt up a little. Marco shifts more into Jean’s lap and the blonde relaxes into the bed, running his hands down Marco’s hips and grabbing a few good handfuls of his ass. Marco leans down, thighs splayed over Jean’s lap, and returns the deep kiss, hips swiveling a little to press their arousals together through their pants. Jean groans and pulls at Marco, fingers squeezing his ass again before scraping his nails down too-tight jeans to grab again at his thighs. He can’t figure out where he wants to put his hands, so he puts them _everywhere_ , taking control of their kiss again and allowing it to turn hungry, needy. 

Marco pulls away with a slight gasp, though, and licks his lips again. Jean’s eyes follow the movement, narrowing slightly before returning to Marco’s. The brunette grins slightly, one corner of his lips curling up teasingly, before his hands move under Jean’s shirt and his nails scratch gently over pale skin. His hips haven’t stopped moving this whole time, but it’s entirely too slow and teasing and Jean grabs Marco’s ass again and really _grinds_ them together. Marco’s mouth drops open with a gasp and his back arches, and Jean’s about to flip them back over and really show him what he’s capable of when Marco chuckles and wiggles down Jean’s thighs, sticking with his unbearably slow rhythm.

“Fuck,” Jean sighs, breaking the tension that thickens the air. “What’re you doing to me?”

Marco leans down and nuzzles Jean’s stomach, having rucked his shirt up enough to do so, before shooting him an incredible, smoky look through his eyelashes. “Whatever you let me,” comes the raspy reply, and it’s really a good thing Jean has great self-control, because he could easily imagine himself coming to that image. Repeatedly. He opts for a soft, shaky moan, and cards his fingers through Marco’s soft hair. 

Those warm hands are back then, nails running just a little harder down his stomach before dipping under the band of Jean’s underwear, sticking up above his jeans. Marco gives that half-grin again before flicking his dark eyes away to pay attention to his hands. As he slowly slips the button on Jean’s pants out of the catch, he presses hot, wet kisses down from Jean’s solar plexus, nipping gently at his navel. As he tugs the zipper down, the sound insanely loud in the silence, dark eyes flick back up to Jean. That damned mouth kisses down the light trail of hair leading to his boxers, scraping his teeth along it, and Jean feels slight freedom as his zipper finally releases its death grip on his aching cock.

Marco Bodt appears to be some kind of sexual god, Jean realizes dimly, unable to look away from the brunette’s smoldering gaze. His lips falls open on a shaky gasp, one hand resting on Marco’s freckled shoulder, the other resting at the base of his skull, neither encouraging nor directing. He’s willing to let Marco do _anything_ , as long as he keeps looking at him like that.

His lips fall open again when Marco finally grabs his cock through his boxers, rolling his hips up a little, eyelids fluttering a little at the sensation. The brunette wastes no time, however, and shoves Jean’s underwear down over his hips. Jean’s licking his lips now at the way Marco eyes up his exposed, at-attention cock, giving it a loose, slow tug. His gaze flicks back to Jean’s face as he licks a broad stripe from base to head, and Jean’s breath hitches. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, half because he almost can’t take it and half because he’s almost entirely sure this has to be a dream. 

It’s not, though, and he has to keep his head on his shoulders when Marco’s hot tongue delves into the wet slit at the tip. “F-fuck,” Jean encourages, trembling fingers squeezing whatever tan flesh he’s holding onto. “H-how are you… nngh,” he trails off ungracefully. He pulls one hand away to yank their abandoned hoodies under his head as a makeshift pillow, allowing for a better view. Pulling his shirt back up (because suddenly all of his clothing is way too damn hot), Jean runs his fingers through Marco’s hair again. There’s no way he can keep looking at Marco, though, when he sucks the head of Jean’s cock between his lips and sighs almost contentedly. Jean’s eyes slide shut and he trails his fingers along Marco’s jaw, trying to both attend to and ignore the feeling of a hot, wet tongue making languid circles around his dick.

Marco hums and dips his head a little, tongue wetting hot flesh, and his lips slide smoothly over slick skin, and _how the fuck is any one human so goddamn good at this_. Jean almost whimpers when Marco pulls back up, sucking just enough to drive him crazy, and he arches his hips up in an attempt to follow the brunette’s hot, sweet mouth. With a heavy sigh, Jean chances a look with one eye, and finds that Marco’s intense eyes are closed now, focusing on the task at hand. He opens both eyes, moaning softly, and runs his thumbs over Marco’s freckled cheekbones. “God damn,” Jean sighs, twitching a little when Marco pulls off and flicks his tongue over that sensitive spot just below the head. “That’s incredible.”

With a chuckle, Marco pulls away and gives Jean a few slow, good strokes, saliva slicking the motion. He looks back up at Jean and smiles almost sweetly, intent betrayed by the intense heat in his eyes. With a soft sigh, he takes Jean in again and starts an incredible, slow, teasing rhythm, sucking just enough and not enough, slipping deep each time, enough to bury his nose in coarse blonde curls. Soft hums accompany the bobbing motion of his head, and quiet slurping noises, but neither are enough to mask the sound of Marco unzipping his own pants and freeing his cock. 

A soft moan betrays his pleasure, and Jean can only imagine that Marco’s stroking himself as he sucks Jean’s cock, and the blonde shudders and arches and curses. “Oh my _god_ ,” Jean murmurs, unable to keep from running his hands over anything Marco that he can reach. “You’re so amazing, god…” Jean tilts his head back and gasps, rolling his hips up into that tight, giving heat. “I can’t even… ugh,” he sighs eloquently. His eyes return to Marco’s, and he notices that the brunette’s face is flushed, eyebrows drawing together just enough to show how much he’s enjoying this too. 

Even as Marco starts bobbing his head faster, soft moans escaping whenever he can, tongue tracing maddening swirls into hot flesh, Jean knows it’s not enough. He feels incredible, no doubt, but sometimes his dick’s got wants and needs of its own, and there’s no way he’s getting off this easy. Jean bites his lip, watching Marco’s lips for just a few seconds more, before what he’s thinking slips out of his mouth unfiltered. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” Jean moans, hands moving to pull Marco back up against him. The brunette complies, reaching between them to wrap his shaking fingers around both of their cocks. A soft moan escapes his pink lips as his own arousal slides against Jean’s slick hardness, and Jean can’t help but roll his hips up against Marco again, even as his hands grab at anything he can reach.

Jean takes advantage of Marco’s now-unbuttoned pants, sliding his hands along hot, smooth skin to grab better, more solid handfuls of Marco’s ass. He uses his grip to rock Marco against him, and as the brunette arches his back and moans, Jean kisses up his chest, scraping his teeth along a line of freckles. Jean’s heels dig into the mattress to allow better, harder thrusting, controlling their movements easily. 

Peeking up through his bangs, Jean employs some bedroom eyes of his own, catching Marco’s gaze and kissing wetly at whatever his lips can reach. “Will you let me?” 

Marco pants, allowing Jean to rock them together, and he seems to contemplate for a moment. He squeezes his eyes shut, though, and nods, looking for all the world like he hadn’t just sucked Jean’s soul right out through his dick.

That blushing, embarrassed look is gonna be the death of Jean, the blonde decides as he groans and sits up, shifting Marco on his lap. He pushes Marco back onto the bed and stands up, kicking his shoes off and ripping off his socks. As his hands grasp the denim sliding down his thighs, he looks back up at Marco. The brunette makes an incredible picture, shirtless and hard and still half-clothed on Jean’s bed. 

If Jean could choose any memory to frame and put on his wall forever, fuck, it’d be that one. And if he plays his cards right, maybe he’ll get to see it more often. Every day would suffice. Jean grins and bites his lip, shimmying out of his pants and underwear and hauling his shirt off. Marco laughs at the eagerness with which Jean is disrobing, reaching down to tug off the rest of his clothes in similar fashion.

Jean slides himself between Marco’s thighs and kisses him again, the movement too needy to continue for long. He pulls away and rifles through the drawer in his cheap end table, retrieving a condom with a triumphant sound.

“Uh,” Marco says, voice husky. “D-d’you have… lube, or lotion, or anything?”

With a slightly disgruntled face, Jean rolls away again, grabbing the lotion on his desk before almost jumping back onto the bed. “This okay?”

Marco hums and reaches for it, reading the back for a second. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, handing it back to Jean. Marco Bodt, sex god and lotion expert, Jean thinks to himself with a grin. He rests a hand on Marco’s hip as the brunette pulls his long legs in and wiggles onto his stomach. “’S easier,” the brunette says with a dark flush, shyly meeting Jean’s eyes as he arches his back, and Jean feels his mouth go dry again.

Jean drops the lotion on the bed. He takes the opportunity to runs his hands over Marco’s (fantastic) ass, unashamedly checking him out. Marco slides up onto his knees a little more, biting his lower lip, and laughing at Jean’s face.

“You look like you’re gonna eat me,” Marco says with a slight laugh, reaching down to playfully pinch at Jean’s bony knee. The blonde doesn’t respond; he only wiggles his eyebrows a little and leans down to jokingly bite Marco’s ass. “H-hey,” the brunette sputters.

Jean sits back on his heels and takes another moment to admire Marco, biting his lip a little, before picking up the lotion again. Because seriously, if he doesn’t fuck Marco immediately he may actually die.

“So, uh,” Jean speaks up, clearing his throat a little.

“Um,” Marco sputters, burying his face in a pillow. Voice muffled, he continues, “J-just use your fingers for a bit.”

“Right,” Jean sighs, squirting what he hopes is a healthy amount of lotion into his palm. He coats two fingers liberally, wiping the remaining lotion on his thigh before shuffling behind Marco in a more apt position. He’s definitely not stalling when he reaches under Marco and strokes his arousal slowly, grip firm. The brunette sighs and relaxes a little, until Jean runs his slick fingers along Marco’s entrance, hand shaking just a little.

Jean shakes himself and reminds himself to man up a little. He just rubs gently at first, not trying to push his finger in just yet, spreading some of the lotion around and waiting for Marco just relax. 

“Okay,” comes Marco’s shaky voice, and he arches his back just a little more to offer himself to Jean. The blonde licks his lips and presses the tip of one finger in.

He’d known that it wasn’t going to be like a girl’s wet pussy, but the arousal that coils hot in Jean’s stomach at how _tight_ Marco is almost overwhelms him. He leans down and presses another hot kiss to a lone freckle on Marco’s ass, sighing softly against warm flesh. “Is this for real?”

Marco laughs a little, shivering and gasping when Jean presses his finger in further and thrusts it a little. “D-d’you always talk this much?”

“Sorry,” Jean murmurs, sliding his finger in as deep as it will go and twisting a little. He thrusts with just the one finger for a while, and swear to god, if this is really how tight it’s gonna be, Jean thinks he might die. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he crooks his finger toward Marco’s stomach in a twisted come-hither motion. He thrusts a little faster, stroking along Marco’s inner wall, and he finds what he wasn’t exactly expecting with ease. It’s like a soft little button inside his friend, easier to feel than with girls, and when he rubs his finger over it in quick circles, Marco tightens up again and cries out. 

“F-fuck,” the brunette gasps, biting Jean’s pillow to muffle his sounds. His thighs are trembling almost violently, cock dripping precome, and he looks more fucked out than Jean thinks he can handle. He pulls his finger back and slides two in together, and Marco’s shuddering sigh is enough to put the insistent need back into Jean’s movements. He fucks Marco on his fingers, spreading them and trying his best to hit that spot, and he drinks in the brunette’s muffled sounds like he needs them to live.

“E-enough,” Marco says, rocking his hips back to meet Jean’s quick thrusts. “C-come on.”

Jean pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bed, coming to kneel behind Marco. He feels around for the condom and, as his shaking fingers struggle to open it, he rubs his cock against the brunette. He almost regrets having to pull away from the shivering mess he’s made of his friend, but as he rolls the condom on, Jean can’t help but grin. 

He lines himself up and rubs Marco’s back with his free hand. “You okay?” He already knows the answer, but Marco’s hasty nod endears him to the blonde even more. He presses forward, hand guiding him, and as the head of his cock slides into Marco, Jean’s head falls back on a loud moan. It’s so much better than he could have ever thought. Jean grabs Marco’s hips and he tries to control himself, rolling his hips forward slowly, almost gently.

A look of bliss spreads across Jean’s face, unable to keep the corners of his lips from curling up as they part again on a stuttering gasp.

Jean’s eyes flutter open and he looks down at Marco, who’s peeking over his shoulder with a flushed grin. “What?” the blonde rasps, rolling his hips deeper into Marco and shivering. _Fuck_ , that feels incredible.

“You have… the g-goofiest grin on your face,” Marco says, licking his lips. “Feel good?”

“Fuck, you have no idea,” Jean moans, leaning down and kissing the brunette deeply. “No f-fucking idea…”

He allows Marco to get used to it, and while he’s being gentlemanly Jean tries his damnedest to keep his cool. He allows his hands to rove over hot, tanned skin, fingers gently memorizing everything they can find. Finally, Marco takes a deep, shuddering breath and gives the okay, and _finally_ Jean wraps his arms around Marco’s waist and pulls out just a bit. He moans softly into Marco’s ear as he rolls his hips back in, trying not to lose it as the brunette’s tight heat envelopes him again.

Nothing can ever compare to this, Jean decides as he thrusts again, shaking fingers coming up to turn Marco’s face toward him. He pulls back a little farther and thrusts in a little harder, lips falling open, and he leans down to swallow Marco’s sweet moans in a messy, deep kiss. Their tongues tangle, Marco pressing back against Jean. Jean can’t help but shiver as he pulls away and leans up, hands moving to Marco’s hips.

He starts a slow, deep rhythm, watching almost disbelievingly as his dick slides into Marco over and over. The brunette gives a soft moan and arches his back, angling himself more toward Jean. “Y-you can… ahh,” Marco stutters, fingers gripping the sheets. “F-faster,” he manages finally, and Jean’s sure he’s never heard anything sexier in his life. He scrapes his nails up Marco’s thighs, fingers sliding a little along sweaty skin, and he obliges. Jean moves his hips faster, snapping forward into Marco, and the tightness wrapped around his dick makes his head _spin_. 

It’s more than he can bear to watch anymore, so Jean moves his gaze to Marco’s face, watching as the brunette flushes even darker. Marco squeezes his eyes shut when he notices Jean watching him and buries his face in the pillow. He can’t muffle his cries, though, when Jean loses control for a moment and pounds into Marco for a few short thrusts. Jean’s eyes roll back and he digs his nails into Marco’s hips, somehow regaining control of himself. “Sorry,” the blonde mumbles. “L-lost it a little…”

“Do it again,” Marco says over his shoulder, looking from where Jean’s cock is sliding into him to the blonde’s dark eyes. 

Jean almost whimpers and relinquishes all control. He leans back down against Marco and lets go, hips snapping forward fast and deep and _hard_. Jean moans freely, losing himself in Marco’s incredible tightness. There’s no way he can last like this, and he thinks Marco knows; one of the brunette’s hands has gone missing, and his panting whimpers grow louder and louder the harder Jean slams into him.

With a shaky gasp, Jean squeezes his eyes shut and pounds into Marco again, the bed slamming against the wall, and Marco cries out for him so sweetly. Jean murmurs his lover’s name, over and over, and he runs his hands over Marco’s chest, wrapping his arms around him again and squeezing as if he’s trying to bring them impossibly closer.

“F-fuck, Marco,” Jean moans into the brunette’s ear, thrusts losing rhythm as he nears his orgasm. “’M so c-close… can I… aah—”

Marco grips the sheets tightly, groaning around the mouthful of pillow he’d been using to muffle his cries. His jaw drops with a wanton moan, the fabric falling from between his lips. “J-Jean… c-come inside,” he gasps, arching his back as best he can. Jean’s thighs are trembling with the effort it takes to not succumb; he wants to be lost in this bliss, hovering on the edge, for just a second longer…

Jean moves his hands to Marco’s hips, grabbing them and holding on tight. He buries his face in the brunette’s shoulder, gasping and panting and thrusting and just holding on. Marco starts rolling his hips back against Jean, though, and he fucking _mewls_ at the feeling, tensing around Jean’s cock, and Jean just fucking _loses_ it.

He cries out and his fingers tighten on Marco’s hips, sinking his teeth into soft freckled skin as he rams his way through his orgasm. Jean’s whimpering against Marco’s shoulder, body shaking with the intensity of the pleasure rolling over him, and the brunette buries his face in the sheets under them, gasping and trembling and coming _hard_. Jean almost loses his mind at the way Marco tightens around his cock, the brunette’s hand moving frantically under them as he jacks himself through his own orgasm with barely-muffled cries and broken moans of Jean’s name.

They both pant heavily, Jean wrapping his arms around Marco again, both unwilling to move and separate. 

It’s only when Marco sighs and wriggles under Jean that he pulls out, reaching down to hold the base of the condom as he does so. He pulls the thing off with a disgruntled sound and ties it off, dropping it carelessly in the trash can beside the bed as he flops onto the sheets next to Marco. 

The brunette laughs and lets his knees collapse under him, rolling onto his side to look blearily at Jean. “Holy shit,” he murmurs, echoing Jean’s thoughts perfectly. The blonde laughs and wraps his arms around Marco again, pausing when he notices the mess coating Marco’s hand and the sheets.

“Nice,” Jean laughs blearily, reaching into the slight gap between the bed and the wall to fish out the squished tissue box hidden there. He helps Marco mop himself up, and lets out a dissatisfied sound when Marco stands and pulls his boxers on.

“Sorry, sorry,” the brunette mumbles, swaying just a little. “Gonna wash this off.” He waves his fingers at Jean with a bashful grin, so different from the soul-destroying sex-god grin Jean swears he’d just been looking at. Jean watches Marco slip out into the hallway, noting with satisfaction that the living room light are out. 

While Marco’s doing whatever it is he’s doing, Jean rolls out of bed and pulls the top sheet off the bed. He stuffs the soiled sheet into the hamper in the corner and grabs a wrinkled blanket from somewhere by the foot of the bed. 

When Marco returns, looking almost shy, Jean holds up the blanket and pats the bed next to him. “Get in here.” Marco crawls into the bed and presses himself against Jean, laughing softly as the blonde’s arms wind around his waist for the hundredth time that night.

“So,” Marco hums, pressing a shy kiss to Jean’s forehead.

“So,” Jean replies, moving them so that he can lay on his stomach and drape his arm across Marco.

Marco laughs and pulls the blanket up around his mouth. “Night,” he says finally, blinking owlishly at Jean. The blonde grunts in reply, dragging Marco closer, and allows himself to drift off.

When Jean awakes in the morning, it’s mercifully headache-free but his bladder may actually explode. He tumbles out of bed and makes for the bathroom, noting with distaste that someone had written something pretty girly in lipstick on the mirror.

He contemplates the words as he takes the world’s most satisfying piss. “The freckles in our eyes are mirror images,” the lipstick proclaims, and Jean feels like he’s heard that song somewhere before. 

By the time Jean has washed his hands and returned to his bedroom, he realizes with a pang that he hadn’t rolled over Marco on his way out. The brunette is nowhere to be seen, in fact; Jean opens his drawer and pulls on a fresh pair of boxers, tugging on his shirt from last night before venturing out into the house again.

Thankfully, Marco hadn’t abandoned ship; he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, watching the coffee pot percolate, and looking exceptionally adorable in yesterday’s clothes and slept-in sex hair.

Jean moves into the kitchen and between Marco’s legs, tugging the surprised brunette down for a soft kiss. “Hey,” he mumbles once Marco has retreated a little. 

“Hi,” Marco replies, smiling and trying unsuccessfully to tame his hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Better than okay,” Jean mumbles, moving from the counter to dig around for mugs in the cupboard. “You?”

Marco hums his assent, biting his lip and peeking at Jean out of the corner of his eyes.

“I should probably shower at home,” Marco says after a while, watching Jean put two mugs on the counter. “I hate to do the walk of shame, but I noticed that you don’t seem to have any shampoo. Or conditioner. Or soap.”

Jean blinks at Marco, but only shakes his head. It’s not the first time some really drunk person has stolen their toiletries, but they have yet to pin down who’s doing it. He shifts closer to Marco, leaning against his leg, and stares at the coffee maker as it burps some more steam at them.

They drink rejuvenatingly, hair-curlingly strong coffee (“It’s how I brew it after I’m up all night studying,” Marco mumbles with a blush) and Jean manages to pull together some toast. He’s about to suggest that they hide in his room for the rest of the day when Marco sighs and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I should go,” he says before laughing at Jean’s petulant look. “Sorry, but I have another test Tuesday that I haven’t even looked over yet.”

“Ah, shit,” Jean mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Forgot about the dev test tomorrow. I guess I should study or something.”

“Yeah,” Marco laughs. He finishes his coffee and blushes a little, looking at Jean from under his bangs. “And I don’t think I’d get much studying done if I stayed here.”

Jean groans and slides down in his chair, legs falling open. “Don’t do this to me,” he warns, only half-joking. “You’ll never make it out of here.”

He sees Marco to the door, trying as best he can to keep his thoughts pure. “You know how to get back?” Jean leans against the doorframe and rubs his eye. Marco steps out onto the stoop and turns to face Jean again.

“Yeah, the 23 bus runs near here, right?”

“Two blocks over, it’ll drop you right on campus.”

“Cool,” Marco says. He smiles, and hesitates. “Well, uh… thanks.”

Jean looks Marco over, then grabs him by the front of his hoodie and pulls him in for a surprisingly tender, if not deep kiss. “I’ll come over before class tomorrow to grab my shit,” he murmurs against Marco’s lips. Almost as if catching himself, he backs up against the doorframe again and refuses to look at Marco.

It’s definitely not cute, he thinks, but he can see Marco beaming in his periphery. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Marco says, then turns and heads in the direction of the bus.

Jean watches him go until he’s at the bus stop two blocks down and this lingering could be construed as _pining_.

He’s definitely not pining, he thinks as he climbs the stairs, closes the door, and leans against it. He looks over their apartment, grimacing at the mess. Some long, ruffled pile of blankets that could conceivably be Bertholdt wriggles on the couch, another lump on the floor next to it groaning softly in response. Looks like Reiner spent the night too. 

Jean starts another pot of coffee and cleans up after breakfast, setting everything in the dish drainer before retreating to his room again.

To be honest, Jean’s never had a one night stand before. And really, he’s not about to start now. He can still feel Marco’s hot eyes melting holes in his chilly exterior. No way is he letting that get away from him. Sliding into his desk chair, Jean moves to start studying when he realizes his laptop and notebook are still at Marco’s. Woops.

He leans back into his chair with a sigh, poking half-heartedly at the pile of readings on his desk. That’ll suffice, at least, but Jean really doesn’t know if his brain’s really into the whole ‘studying’ gig right now. Not until another few cups of coffee have made it into his system.

Jean waffles for a little while longer, then gives up. He knows he’s not getting anywhere for a while. Instead, he pulls his shirt up and smells it deeply, and he realizes he smells like booze and smoke and Marco and _sex_ , and _fuck_ his dick’s getting a workout. 

He can taste Marco and smell Marco and when he closes his eyes he can _see_ Marco’s hot dark eyes as he wraps those beautiful lips around Jean’s dick, and Jean’s already got his hand wrapped around himself, stroking languidly to that insane mental image. He can see Marco’s tongue licking a broad path up to the head, wrapping around, dipping into the slit, the way his mouth curls into the world’s sexiest smile as he takes Jean in. 

Amazing.

Jean leans his head back, inhaling Marco’s smell off his skin, rolling his hips up into his hand.

There’s no fucking way he is _ever_ letting Marco escape.

He’s getting into it, thrusting his hips up into his slow, even strokes and imagining that he’s buried inside a sweetly moaning Marco, and a soft gasp is brutally interrupted by his bedroom door banging open and Eren tumbling into his room.

Jean doesn’t even bother to hide his dick at first, just pinning Jaeger with a _scathing_ glare. He gets himself together, though, and ruefully releases his cock to pull his shirt over it. “What.”

Eren’s eyes travel up from the pitifully hidden boner Jean’s got to his pissy expression, stupid mouth widening into a grin. “Wait, so did you or did you not get laid last night?”

With a huff, Jean stuffs his rapidly softening cock back into his underwear and pouts. “I did,” he growls, crossing his arms. “The fuck does it matter to you.”

Eren peers at Jean, completely disregarding any unwritten rules about personal space before four in the afternoon. He hasn’t stood up from where he clattered gracelessly to Jean’s floor. 

“What the hell do you want, Jaeger?” Jean sighs, giving up on their awkward staring contest. He runs his hand through his hair as he looks around for his phone. 

Eren flips him the bird and stands up. “You have dibs on the coffee out there?”

“Leave me half,” Jean mumbles, digging his phone out of yesterday’s pants’ pocket. Eren leaves, finally, and Jean rolls over to the wall so he can plug his dying phone in. He rubs his finger over the screen small screen, dislodging a few stray pieces of tobacco from the squished pack of cigarettes, and notices he has a text.

_Marco: See you tomorrow? :)_

Jean blinks and, in spite of himself, smiles warmly as he ticks out a response.

_Jean: yeah ill come around eight_

Class isn’t until ten, but whatever.

_Marco: Okay. I should be awake by then._

Jean reads the text, and rereads it, then tosses his phone onto the desk in disgust when he realizes he’s got butterflies again like a damn preteen. Stupid.

His phone vibrates again. 

_Marco: Uh. Thanks again, lol. Good luck studying_

Jean types out a quick ‘you too,’ debating on whether or not to add a smiley face. He doesn’t, and judges himself all the way into the kitchen for even debating it. Armed with a soup mug of coffee and a lingering desire to jack off, Jean settles himself into his work, taking notes in a spare notebook and not really paying much attention to them.

When Marco lets him in the next morning with a wide but shy smile, Jean stops judging himself and pins the brunette to the wall with a deep, hot kiss.

Marco laughs when Jean lets him breathe again, notices the door had shut behind them already, and drags them upstairs to his room. He crushes Jean’s hopes, though, when he sits down in front of his study materials again and gestures to Jean’s previous work station, basically untouched from how it had been left.

“So, uh,” Marco starts, writing down (for the tenth time) the two pathways they’d been force-fed for two weeks. Jean looks up at him, really hoping Marco doesn’t notice Jean’s distracted doodles. “Should we… talk? About it?”

Jean licks his lips and shuts his laptop. Trust Marco to be cute even when they have to talk about super awkward shit. “Yeah,” he replies, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. “You wanna do it now? Or after the test?” Innuendo _completely_ intentional. Jean tries not to turn red, but fails.

Marco bites his lip and flushes a little too. “Well, uh,” he starts, closing his laptop as well. He twiddles his fingers a little, and Jean checks the time. Half past eight, still plenty of time. Sort of. “I guess I should just ask, so it’s not distracting me…” Jean looks back at Marco, and wishes he wouldn’t look so nervous. “Are you, uh,” Marco starts before trailing off a little. He sighs and runs an exasperated hand through his hair, which looks significantly less fucked than it had yesterday.

“Out with it,” Jean says finally, sipping the coffee he’d bought on the way. 

“Okay,” Marco says, taking a deep breath and looking at Jean seriously. “Are you, uh, just experimenting? Should I just take this as a one-time thing, or…?”

Jean stares at Marco, then at the table between them. It’s a valid question, but to be honest, Jean hadn’t even entertained the idea that maybe Marco doesn’t want to have Jean wrapped around his little finger for as long as he’ll have him. The girlish fantasy grosses him out for a moment, but he shakes it off. 

“Um, I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Jean says to the table, damning his stunted social skills. He takes a deep breath and meets Marco’s stare. “I was kind of hoping that you’d want to do it again. And then some more.” Jean can feel his face turning red, but fuck it. “Maybe for, you know… an extended period of time.”

Marco’s a little red too, and he’s fidgeting with his pen. “I, uh, don’t really do the whole fuck buddy thing,” he says finally, swallowing and looking nervously at Jean. “It just feels weird.”

“I don’t either,” Jean says. He’s really hoping that Marco will catch his drift, but after a few torturous seconds it seems that that won’t be the case. “I, um.” Marco looks up at him. “I do the boyfriend thing, though,” Jean says, voice wavering a little. He looks at Marco, watching his face go from nervous to shocked to a wide grin. 

“I do too,” Marco says finally, covering his face with his hands. “So, uh,” Marco mumbles into his hands. “Should we do the boyfriend thing… together?” He peeks at Jean through his fingers, face bright red.

In response, Jean moves around the table and tackles Marco to the floor, trying his best to kiss the embarrassment out of him.

They lose track of time a little bit, but they make it to their test, rushing in a few minutes late with their fingers entwined tight and grins on their faces. Hanji just shakes their head and hands them the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta-daaaa all done
> 
> i bet you thought i was gonna add to the false declarations of no homo ohoho
> 
> thanks for all the subs, kudos, comments, and bookmarks, you beautiful people

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how to characterize Eren so if i'm fucking up plz tell me


End file.
